Musician

This musician’s not got long to sing,Halving his tempo and half a tone lower…But anyway, he is a real talent.When lilac and mountain ash bloom,A new season and birthday roll round,And confidentiallyTo a secret addressThey bring me books, ballet, and bikinisAnd a half-dead guy - plus guitar -So we’ll both tell each otherA little something like the truth.

He’s not got long to sing,But that’s no one’s business.He continued to playBut went wide of the mark…Every hunter with a gun collectionDreams of bagging a young tiger,His bare hands around its neckSo there’s finally faith in himself.

The land is rich in feather grassThese lands will all be soldFor thousands, even more,But what’s the point, then, eh?In a half-dead guy - plus guitar -Sharing vodka and something like the truth?